A Sideways Step

I squeezed under the front gate and padded down the sloping cobbles of Hay Lane, looking for a clear perch above the morning bustle. A weathered teak bench by a tea shop looked promising, especially with an overturned wooden fruit crate resting against the leg as a ready stepping stool. I paused, lined up my paws, and hopped onto the crate's slatted edge. With a sharp groan, the slats tilted, skittering an inch over the damp stones and dropping me short of the bench arm. A quick shrug, and I adjusted. Pushing off the wobbly timber, I stepped onto the wide clay rim of a sturdy rosemary planter instead. Nestled among the fragrant needles, the view down the lane turned out just as good.